Hunting a Rider
by Immortal Drake
Summary: Slight AU. Three Yautja Hunters, trying to redeem the honor of their father, are sent to Alagaesia to determine it's worthiness as a hunting ground. Will they find their redemption, or death as the Varden try to overthrow the King? Rated M for Predators.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello Readers, bet you missed me. I am back, took a small break for the other parts of my life, and I seemed to write myself into a corner story-wise, how I did that I don't know. Anyway, here is a new story, since my others are suffering from writer's block at the moment, sort of breaking new ground, I guess.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle, which belongs to Mr. Christopher Paolini, really enjoyed reading the books. Nor do I own Predators, which belongs to whoever created the Predator.**

**So, please read, review, and enjoy this bit of background to set us up.**

Hunting a Rider

By: Immortal Drake

Alagaësia, a land that once knew peace and harmony, plunged into war under a tyrant king who betrayed his own order. Under the iron fist of that same leader, King Galbatorix, the noble Riders were hunted into alleged extinction, the same Riders who protected the land for centuries beforehand, betrayed by the tyrant and his corrupted followers. For a hundred years Galbatorix ruled Alagaësia, not bothering to remove himself from his capital city of Urû'Baen even when the nation of Surda declared its independence.

Some time after Galbatorix' rise to the throne, a resistance movement, started by the former Rider Brom, called the Varden separated from the Empire and rebelled against the King. After retreating into the Beor Mountains with the dwarves, the Varden were losing hope. It wasn't until one of the three remaining dragon eggs in the King's possession was stolen and then recovered by Brom that hope was kindled again.

When this sapphire colored egg did not hatch for any of those in the Varden or their allies, the Elves, an arrangement was made to ferry the egg back and forth. The ones to do this were the Princess of the Elves, Arya, and her companions Glenwing and Faolin.

During one of these trips, the shade Durza attacked and nearly took the egg, Arya's quick thinking saved it and sent it into the Spine, a range of mountains near the town of Carvahall. It was there that the egg was found by Eragon, after which the egg hatched for him.

Naming the dragon Saphira, Eragon raised her as she grew, keeping her a secret from the people of his village and the King. After the murder of Eragon's uncle, Garrow, at the hands of the Ra'zac, Eragon planned to leave for revenge. It was then he met Brom, who was masquerading as the village storyteller.

Under Brom's guidance, Eragon learned the ways of the Riders of old, including magic.

During their travels together, they saw many examples of the King's tyranny, including an entire village slaughtered by monstrous creatures known as Urgals.

One night, after nearly being captured in the city of Dras-Leona, the Ra'zac caught up to them, and after brief skirmish involving the young man Murtagh, Brom was killed by the Ra'zac.

After Brom's death, Eragon and Murtagh went farther north, following Eragon's dreams of a captured woman.

After Eragon's own capture, Murtagh worked to break him out of prison in Gil'ead, the same city Eragon's dreams told him to find the woman in his dreams.

After recovering the woman, who was in fact Arya, the group was confronted by Durza. After a desperate fight, they were able to flee on Saphira.

It was then Eragon and Murtagh fled with all possible speed to the Varden in the Beor Mountains to get treatment for a poisoned Arya. Many troubles befell them on the way, ranging from bandits to a horde of Urgals chasing them to the doorstep of the Varden.

After being accepted by the Varden, Eragon, Murtagh, and Saphira had to help the rebels prepare for their fight against the Urgals that had followed them, led by Durza himself.

Fighting Durza in one-on-one combat, Eragon managed to defeat the Shade by stabbing him through the heart, ending his threat forever. Unfortunately, Eragon suffered a severe injury in the process, leaving him scarred.

One of the things destroyed in the Fall of the Riders was a legend brought from the Elves' homeland across the sea. A story of warriors from the stars that came to challenge the greatest fighters among them, warriors that arrived every two hundred years. When the Riders were formed, the warriors would challenge them as well, along with other races of Alagaësia. Several hundred years before the Fall, these warriors disappeared, no longer coming at the expected times. Over time, this knowledge was forgotten; even the Elves stopped believing in them by the time of Eragon's birth.

After all; such things could only be superstition.

* * *

Akkarn walked through the dim corridor of the ship. He was a Yautja, better known to Humans as Predators. He stood at 7' 4" with cream colored skin with a slight orange tinge. He wore a diamond-patterned body suit with a color similar to his skin, with metal gauntlets, shin guards wrapped with fur pelts of a previous hunt, and pauldrons of a gunmetal grey color. His eyes were an orange amber color, with a piercing, knowing glint that spoke of experience. Upon his forehead was burned the symbol of his clan, a stylized circle of blades, the mark of a Blooded Hunter. A medium length head of dreadlocks swayed even with his collarbone.

He was searching for his brother, Ziirik, and sister, Szehra; they had a task to complete for the Elder.

Akkarn walked into the training room, and found his siblings sparring, as per the usual. Their masks were set to the side.

Szehra was a towering 7' 10" Yautja with black eyes, and dreadlocks that nearly reached to the small of her back. A discolored scar ran over her left eye from her brow, her eye was unharmed. Dark blue stripes could be seen running across the back of her neck like a tiger's. She complimented the usual body suit with two gauntlets, shin guards, a single metal pauldron on her right shoulder, the front of a Serpent skull served as the left pauldron, jaw, fangs, and all, as well as a light breastplate and greaves. A scale-patterned armored skirt was attached to her belt, slit up the sides and tapering to a V-like point. She was the middle sibling of the three.

Ziirik, Ziir for short, only stood at 7' 0" with neon yellow eyes and a short head of dreadlocks that barely reached to his collarbone. He wore a smaller pair of gauntlets, no pauldrons, with knee guards and elbow guards in addition to the body suit. All armor pieces had a swept look to them, as if they were flowing as the young Hunter moved. He was the youngest of the three.

Akkarn waited for the two to finish their bout, arms crossed over his chest. Szehra was using her signature weapon, a glaive that was nearly long as she was tall, with a short barbed blade on each end. Ziir was using his two wrist blades; which were short and hooked slightly.

Szehra blocked an overhead strike from Ziir, sparks flying from the weapons as they clashed with great force. The shorter Yautja leapt backward before lunging again at his taller sibling. Szehra blocked the strike easily with the haft of her weapon. The middle sibling shoved the younger back, sending Ziir off of his feet. Ziir rolled and came up again, reaching his sister with greater speed than his size seemed to allow. Szehra parried with the blade of her glaive.

With Ziir off-balance, Szehra quickly swept his legs out from under him, sending him to the floor with a small _thud_. Before Ziir knew it, the blade of his sister's weapon was at his throat, marking the end of the bout.

Helping her younger sibling up, Szehra greeted Akkarn with a small nod as she picked up her mask. It was a similar grey to the rest of the metal pieces of her armor, which was the same as Akkarn's, and marked with small decorations such as a couple fangs from a Serpent. A scar on the mask reflected the one on her face. Ziir's mask reflected the nature of his style, a swept style that had a slightly spiky look. After his siblings placed their masks on their faces, he gave them the news.

"Brother, Sister, the Elder has a task for us," he said, "You remember our allies lost access to their hunting grounds many years ago?" His siblings nodded.

"They have allowed our clan to conduct Hunts there, and we have been chosen to scout it out," Akkarn said, "We are to prepare for departure immediately, a ship will pick us up from the planet when we send the signal."

A couple hours later, Akkarn and his siblings met in the docking bay of the clan's mothership. All three of the Hunters were equipped with their full arsenals. Akkarn had his twin pairs of wrist blades, a combi-stick, a plasma caster on his left shoulder, and a pair of swords on his hips. A fur half-cape was around his neck, part of the inheritance from the siblings' father, as were the swords.

Szehra had her glaive across her back, the weapon folded for ease of storage, a plasma caster on her right shoulder, the blades in her gauntlets, as well as a trio of throwing knives on her hip, a gift from their mother for completing their Blooding.

Ziirik, ever the tracker of the group, was equipped with a net gun on his hip, a pair of smart discs on the other; both of his shoulders possessed a plasma caster, and a pair of combi-sticks was on his back.

"You do not waste time, good," a deep voice rumbled, and the siblings turned to see the Elder of their clan standing nearby. All three Hunters turned and pressed their right arms to their chests and giving a slight bow.

"Thank you Honored One," Szehra answered as the salute was finished, the Elder acknowledging with a nod.

Appraising Akkarn's swords and cloak, the Elder addressed the Hunter, "I see you carry your inheritance, your Father was one of the greatest Elites our clan has ever had, a shame he fell so far." Akkarn's mood dropped, and he could sense those of his siblings doing the same. They had lost their father nearly ten years ago, when he had mistakenly killed a pregnant _ooman_ woman while hunting for errant Serpents. In his shame he activated the self-destruct on his gauntlet, eliminating the Serpents and himself in one fell swoop.

"Your actions here could give our clan valuable hunting grounds," the Elder announced, "If you fail, do not expect to be welcome back here," he finished with the threat evident in his voice. They just might erase the stain of their father's dishonor with success, failure, would result in banishment to the planet.

"We will not fail you Elder," Szehra said flatly, determination laced her voice.

With a nod from the Elder, the three siblings boarded the smaller craft that held the pods they would then take down to the surface of the planet. With the hum of engines, the craft lifted from the bay and shot into the darkness of space.

* * *

Galbatorix was not happy, not in the least. Not only had his most recent right-hand man, the Shade Durza, failed to destroy the Varden with an army of Urgals, but the Shade had been dispersed himself. The only silver lining to the situation was Durza himself didn't have to suffer the King's wrath, which the tyrant chose to take out on several of his staff instead.

Brooding in his dark thoughts, Galbatorix was suddenly disturbed by a rumble from Shruikan, the dragon he had stolen. '_What is it_,' he demanded in his thoughts.

'_Something is disturbing to the senses_,' came the massive black dragon's reply, the King's view suddenly shifted, to many miles above the Empire. There were three objects falling in close proximity to each other. They could no doubt be what caused Shruikan's unease. In his mind's eye, Galbatorix quickly determined they would land in the heart of the Empire. As they fell ever closer, faster than a falcon in a stoop, the King came to a realization; there were some sort of beings in those objects, their life energy shining brightly from inside. They could only mean one thing, the warriors from the stars the old books at Ilirea. He could not have to deal with those things while dealing with the upstart Rider at the same time. Galbatorix quickly took hold of the magic reserves he had built up over the years, drawing from stolen Eldunarí.

'_We shall see how well they fare now_,' Galbatorix thought as he released the magic. The three objects were suddenly wrenched from their paths and flung in three different directions. One was now headed out towards the Hadarac Desert, towards the Beor Mountains. Another was flung to the North, into Du Weldenvarden¸ the forest of the Elves. Finally, the last would be landing in the Spine, actually very near the small town of Carvahall. All the better really, his troops could reach into the mountain range easily so close to a village. No doubt they could find some "willing volunteers" to guide them into the mountains there.

Chuckling to himself, Galbatorix said, "Let the Hunt, begin."

**A/N: So, that was interesting to write. Originally, it was going to be three male Yautja, but I thought I'd try a female, since in canon they are supposed to be bigger and stronger apparently.**

**Pronunciation Guide-**

**Akkarn: A-CARN (Pretty much like saying "A Car" with the "N" sound at the end)**

**Szehra: S-Z-AIR-AH (Pronounced similarly to "Sarah" they are supposed to rhyme, slight "Z" in combination with "S" with slight roll of the "R")**

**Ziirik: Z-EER-ICK (It pretty much looks how it sounds)**

**Ooman: sounds like it looks (Yautja slang for Human)**

**Well, I'll see you next time in Chapter 1 of Hunting a Rider.**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello again, Immortal Drake here with the next chapter of Hunting a Rider. Now, we get to see some first impressions our three Hunters will make on Alagaësia. Let's find out.**

**Disclaimer: See Prologue.**

**Without further ado, please read, review, and enjoy.**

A throbbing in her skull roused Szehra from unconsciousness with a growl. She shook her masked head slightly to clear some of the fuzziness, '_What happened, things were going smoothly until, until whatever it was happened to send the pods off-course_,' she thought. She hoped her brothers were okay, particularly Ziirik, he didn't have as much experience as her or Akkarn.

Checking her gear, she was able to determine that nothing was damaged, the pod still did its job, keeping its sole occupant and her weapons in the condition they had entered in, if a little shaken up. Looking around, Szehra found the release lever, and pulled it, the top of the pod opening and sliding back with a _hiss_.

Putting a hand over the side, Szehra heaved herself out of the pod, landing onto soft soil. What she saw put her in slight awe, she was in a mountain range, the thin air her mask picked up was indication of that, but it was entirely unpolluted, not at all like some other planets she had hunted upon in her 125 years of life. Looking around, her mask was able to detect distant heat signatures, most likely animals.

Looking around, Szehra thought to the stories she had heard when she was young, of how there were warriors of great prowess and honor that could actually best an Elite Yautja. How they could tell a Hunter's presence without breaking the cloak, or of sentient beasts that would even give a Serpent pause, those that rode them were the greatest prey of all.

She just wasn't seeing it.

If the stories were true, she should have seen at least one of them by now, and yet the skies above her were clear of anything flying as she leaped through the trees. Her pod and its large furrow of upturned dirt was left behind, an _ooman_ wouldn't be able to see it by now, but she still could. The pod's self-destruct was still intact, and it would explode automatically in a short while.

However, she couldn't shake an unease that she had felt ever since crashing, whatever had caused the pods to veer off-course, it wasn't natural, not even close. Some_thing_ had caused her separation from her siblings, and she had the distinct feeling whatever it was, it was aware she was here. And that was why she needed to regroup with her siblings as soon as possible.

But she needed to find a map, or other way to find a route to an area her siblings were likely to go as well.

Her hearing picked something up, it was faint, but it sounded almost like voices, maybe it was her brothers. She quickly changed course, activating her cloak and leaping through the branches towards her new target.

* * *

**(Earlier that day)**

Dirt crunched under Roran's boots as he led the way down the valley. It was a cool and pale morning in Palancar Valley, the home of Roran, and the villagers of Carvahall. Another resident of the village, Baldor, the son of the local blacksmith Horst was with him to hunt deer.

"Did you see the light last night," Baldor asked Roran, who shook his head. "No," the other replied incredulously, "It practically soared over your farm, and landed in the Spine, how could you have missed it?" Roran could only shrug in reply, he had been rather lost in thought last night thinking about his future prospects.

The Spine was a range of mountains that ran through the Empire, splitting it like a spinal column between the coastal cities and villages, and the heartland of the Empire itself. The mountains had a bad stigma about them, the location of where an entire battalion of Galbatorix's troops had vanished, not to mention the local legends about the place.

"There," Baldor said, catching Roran's attention to a set of tracks that led into a set of brambles near the Anora River that ran through the valley.

The tracks looked about a day old, so Roran risked speaking, "Could I have your advice Baldor? You seem to have a good understanding of people."

"Of course. What is it?" replied the other.

It was a while before Roran spoke, "Sloan wants to marry off Katrina, and not to me. Every day that passes increases the chance he will arrange a union to his liking."

"What does Katrina say of this?" Baldor replied.

Roran shrugged before answering, "He is her father. She cannot continue to defy his will when no one she _does_ want has stepped forward to claim her."

"That is, you," was the reply.

"Aye."

"And that's why you were up so early," Baldor stated, not questioned.

Roran had truthfully not slept at all, worrying about solving the predicament surrounding the situation.

"I can't bear to lose her. But I don't think Sloan will give us his blessing, what with my situation and all," he stated.

"No, I don't think he will, Baldor agreed. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, "What is it you want my advice on, though?" he asked.

With a snort of laughter, Roran answered, "How can I convince Sloan otherwise? How can I resolve this dilemma without starting a blood feud?" Roran threw his hands up, "What should I do?"

"Have you no ideas?" inquired Baldor.

"I do, but not of a sort I find pleasing," was the reply, "It occurred to me that Katrina and I could simply announce we were engaged—not that we are yet—and hang the consequences. That would force Sloan to accept our betrothal."

A frown creased Baldor's brow, "Maybe—do you smell that Roran, smells like fire."

Indeed, a scent wafted over the breeze, heavy with the acrid smell of smoke.

Roran turned in a quick circle, breathing deeply with his eyes closed. '_Who would be here besides us_,' he thought as he searched. A small gust blew by, bringing a wash of the scent, leading further down the road. With it, the smell of meat cooking entered Roran's nose, nearly causing his mouth to water.

Beckoning Baldor to follow, the pair returned to the road and followed the smell south. Reaching a copse of dogwood, they slowed to a stop, hearing the rise and fall of voices, muffled slightly by the early morning fog, it wouldn't be smart to surprise people when they might be out hunting as well.

Something seemed off to Roran though, maybe it was the number of voices, there were definitely too many to be any of the families in the valley. Without a thought, he went off the road and crept into the underbrush.

"What are you doing?" Baldor whispered, even as he followed Roran.

Roran put a finger to his lips to tell Baldor to keep quiet, then the two crept along, parallel to the road, keeping their footsteps as quietly as possible. As the pair rounded the bend, Roran froze.

There was a camp of soldiers off the side of the road. Sixty helmets gleamed in the morning light as their owners feasted upon fowl and stew cooked over several fires. The men were splattered with mud and travel stained, but Galbatorix's symbol was still visible on their red tunics, a twisting flame outlined in gold thread. Underneath the tunics, they wore leather brigandines—heavy with riveted squares of steel—mail shirts, and then padded gambesons. A majority of the soldiers bore broadswords, about a dozen of them were archers, another dozen carried wicked-looking halberds, and Roran could see half-dozen horses tied up together.

Sitting in the midst of the camp was a singular figure in black robes, seeming to be conversing with two twisted black forms that Roran recognized from the numerous descriptions the villagers the villagers provided upon his return: the strangers who had destroyed his farm. A realization chilled Roran's blood, '_They're servants of the Empire_', he thought.

Roran began to step forward, fingers reaching for an arrow, when Baldor grabbed his jerkin and dragged him to the ground.

"Don't. You'll get us both killed," he hissed.

Glaring, Roran answered with a snarl, "That's…they're the bastards…" He stopped, noticing his hands were shaking.

"Who goes there," a voice called out. Both Roran and Baldor became stock still, not daring to move a muscle.

"Probably just a rabbit," another voice replied, and the sound of boots tramping away allowed a sense of relief to wash over the two.

"What do they want? What _can_ they want?" Roran asked as he and Baldor sneaked through the trees as fast as they dared.

"If they didn't get what they needed from Garrow, and Eragon fled with Brom, then they must want you," Baldor reasoned, then paused, "Or something to do with the light last night."

"We have to get back and warn everyone. Then you have to hide. They don't have enough horses; we can get there first if we run," Baldor insisted.

Despite his strong desire to avenge his father, Roran gave a stiff nod and followed his friend.

After running for two miles, the pair stopped to take a drink from their water skins, resting until their panting subsided. "You spread the word, I'll talk with Horst," Roran told Baldor, the other nodding and the two took off again.

Roran quickly reached the forge, making wild plans to kill the strangers or evade them, as well as dwelling on how they could be connected to the thing that fell into the Spine.

He burst into the forge to find Horst, the big bearded blacksmith was the only one in Carvahall, tapping a peg into a wagon that belonged to another villager, Quimby. The man was singing a tune:

…_hey O! And a ringing and a dinging Rang from old iron! Wily old iron. With a beat and a bang on the bones of the land, I conquered wily old iron!_

Upon noticing Roran, Horst immediately stopped his hammering, "What's the matter, lad? Is Baldor hurt?"

Roran shook his head in answer, gasping for air. He related his tale to the blacksmith in short bursts, all that they had seen and the possible implications, including that the strangers were agents of the Empire.

Fingering his beard, Horst answered, "You have to leave Carvahall. Fetch some food from the house, then take my mare—Ivor's pulling stumps with her—and ride into the foothills. Once we know what the soldiers want, I'll send Albriech or Baldor with word."

* * *

**(Back to the present)**

Szehra quickly made her way through the trees, her stamina allowing her to traverse the distance in a few minutes and be almost silent.

The Huntress reached a point on the mountainside, from the trees she could see what looked like a primitive village down in a valley. Observing the position, she found that the voices came from below her, the owners were unlikely to be seen from the valley below while being able to observe the village at the same time.

'_Oomans, what are oomans doing here?_' she thought to herself. Indeed, there were two oomans conversing below her, one had dark hair, the other fair blonde hair. The dark haired one was average height, a lot shorter than Szehra herself, while the fair haired one was much taller, but still shorter than even Ziirik.

The two seemed to be having a conversation, but it sounded a lot different than the language spoken by most of the oomans she had encountered herself. From the way it sounded, the topic of the oomans' conversation was rather important, too bad she couldn't understand it, but their body language told her a lot. Both were well-built, but more like tradesmen of some sort rather than warriors, so most likely one was hunting, there was a bow set aside. What looked like a pack that seemed very close to its breaking point filled with various goods was set aside as well, so it was likely one of them was going to be up in the mountains for a long time.

Then, the fair haired ooman started to walk away, and then turned to his companion, starting to speak gibberish again, until it hit a familiar word, "Ra'zac."

'_Ra'zac_,' she repeated in her head. The word to the Yautja meant Carrion Eater, and was also a term used to refer to prey that had attacked a Hunter in a dishonorable way. Some humans she had heard about had earned that name, and a few of the ones she had hunted as well.

Motion caught her attention, there seemed to a column of oomans marching out of the village. Her fellow observer seemed to have seen them as well, the young ooman immediately going prone to watch over the ledge.

Activating the zoom function on her mask, Szehra could see the armor glinting in the sunlight, but very specific details were blurred at the distance. There were about thirty oomans, while three were on what seemed to be horses, all three wore black robes, but two of them were hunched and almost twisted in their posture.

Szehra had a hunch that these two were the Ra'zac.

Another bunch of figures were also traveling with the ooman soldiers, and with no glinting of armor, she guessed they were from the village. At this distance she couldn't guess if they were willingly helping the soldiers or not, but she would find out soon enough.

What was worrying was that the column was heading into the mountains, and as they inched closer her unwitting companion became more and more tense. Maybe he could be useful to her after all, he hopefully knew this area better than the Huntress did herself, and he could track the soldiers. Unless they came for him, then it would be useless, but sending thirty soldiers and three unknowns with possible guides into the mountains for just one ooman didn't add up.

The only other conclusion that came to her mind was they were after her pod. She could not allow it, but thirty was a significant number even for herself, she needed to be creative.

* * *

Roran watched the column of soldiers as they raised dust marching into the paths leading into the foothills of the Spine. At first he was worried that they had noticed him, but they seemed to be heading further into the mountains. '_They must be here for the thing that fell from the sky_,' he thought.

As they got closer, Roran thought he could just spot a familiar form among the soldiers, '_Katrina_,' he thought urgently, indeed it was the girl Roran loved, being shoved along with some other villagers from Carvahall. The column had long since passed the path leading to Roran's hiding place, so he decided to follow them, hoping to rescue Katrina and the other villagers if he had the opportunity.

* * *

Szehra had quickly followed the ooman she had observed as he followed the column of soldiers. He did indeed know this area somewhat, able to keep out of sight of his quarry. '_Or he knows some rudimentary stealth_,' she thought, as there were a couple close calls involving wildlife or a stumble on the part of the ooman. The other oomans were definitely helping the soldiers, but Szehra doubted that they were willing in doing so; the group did include a few ooman girls, the Huntress catching the soldiers sending lecherous looks at them, which aggravated the Yautja.

The column then stopped a short walk away from where her pod had landed, not enough to see where it lay for the oomans, but probably in their hearing distance. It was there that the villagers were all grouped and bound to a tree in the clearing. Half of the group's soldiers stayed with the villagers, the other half following the three robed unknowns. Szehra decided to follow this group, as they were walking closer to her pod.

Reaching the forcibly made clearing, the robed figures quickly ordered sentries around the area. This was smart, except they didn't know their enemy could turn invisible. A small number of the group wielded what looked like bows, and a few more had polearms of a sort, the other soldiers had swords. Their armor wasn't even entirely metal, wearing a combination of what seemed to be leather and chainmail. Looking closely, she could see what seemed to be barding on their armor, a flame outlined in gold, the barding itself red. The majority of the sentries were wielding bows or polearms, the remaining number bore the swords.

'_This is too easy_,' Szehra thought to herself as she observed the soldiers. Their armor was splattered with mud, and they didn't seem to have rested from their march to the village then to the mountains, and it showed in their breathing patterns, some of them had heightened breathing. They also seemed to be nervous, looking around as if they expected some sort of spook to pop out from behind a nearby bush.

The normal robed figure brought its hood down, revealing an ooman with hair as black as ink, a beginning of a full beard lining his jaw line. He went to speak to the two twisted figures, which seemed to order him to inspect the pod. From her position in the trees, Szehra watched as the robed ooman walked over, motioning three soldiers to come with him.

* * *

Michael Edmundsson, magician for Galbatorix, walked over to the mysterious object that had the King in a fuss. Looking right at it, just a long hollow cylinder with a flared back end, and an overall barbed look, didn't seem very impressive. Then again, with the King wanting it, it had to do with something very important. Placing a hand on the metal, he found it to be cool to the touch, which was not a surprise considering how long it had been sitting there. Looking inside, he found little comforts, what seemed to be a seat with a very thin leather lining, and a small lever, but when he pulled on it the mechanism didn't respond, not budging an inch.

Reaching out with his mind, Michael did find that whatever the thing was, it was humming with energy, enough to maybe move an extremely big boulder, but that was about it by his estimates. Placing his hand on it again, he decided to see where the thing stored its energy.

He didn't see the trio of red dots near his hand until the object and its immediate vicinity was engulfed in an explosion.

* * *

Szehra was quite pleased, her plasma caster had hit the pod dead on, engulfing the robed ooman and the soldiers that had been inspecting it in fire. The four had been blown to miscellaneous bits of meat, which rained over the area.

The Huntress wasted no time, leaping from her perch and landing on one of the bow-wielding sentries with bone-shattering force, the ooman's bones making a satisfying _snap_. As the man howled, Szehra was moving, leaping towards another sentry, wrist blades at the ready with a metallic _hiss_. She bowled into the unlucky soldier with the impetus of a small boulder, wrist blades piercing through his armor with ease and straight into his heart. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

An arrow whizzing past her head alerted Szehra to the presence of the other soldiers. With a quick fluid motion, she withdrew one of her knives and threw it in the direction the arrow came from. The offending soldier found the weapon lodged between his eyes.

Szehra then whirled at the sound of a war-cry behind her, wrist blades knocking away a soldier's broadsword, the Huntress then took hold of his throat and raised him off his feet. Looking briefly at her captive, Szehra heard another yell to her left, and she turned to see one of the polearm-wielding soldiers charging her, point of his weapon forward. With a quick step and heave, the Huntress threw her captive at the charging soldier. The soldier-turned-projectile slammed into his comrade, the two landing in a heap, the first one becoming impaled upon the second's weapon. Unable to push his comrade off of him, the second soldier was helpless when Szehra harshly stomped on his head, denting his helm and crushing in his skull.

Only a half-dozen soldiers were left, the two twisted figures nowhere to be seen, but she couldn't be distracted now that the soldiers had regrouped. Two soldiers still had bows, two others had polearms, and the remaining had swords. Szehra whipped out her glaive, the weapon swiftly snapping into position, the blades gleaming in the light.

The soldiers moved forward, but Szehra beat them to it, leaping with a short roar.

The skirmish turned into a flurry of movement. One soldier found his bow quickly sliced into pieces before being nearly slashed in two the next second, the blade nearly passing cleanly through his body. Szehra's longer weapon allowed her to keep the nearest polearm-wielding soldier at bay, before slicing the head of the weapon off and running him through.

The next soldier was even more defenseless with his blade, a clumsy strike costing him his weapon, then a slash disemboweling him, and while trying to keep his entrails inside, the next instant his head was struck from his shoulders, the now-headless corpse falling to its knees and then onto its front.

The other three soldiers did not get a chance to react, the Yautja charging forward. Her shoulder brushed a soldier aside without so much as a moment's resistance. The remaining polearm-wielding soldier tried to stand his ground, but received a throwing knife to his chest for his trouble. The target of the Huntress' charge, the other bowman, stood shaking trying to draw his bow.

The man didn't get the chance, Szehra's wrist blades found themselves buried in the soldier's throat, before with an upward jerk, the head was torn free with a spray of blood.

Removing the head from her blades, Szehra observed her other opponents, who stood their ground, only barely. She found it odd, they looked like they wanted to retreat, but something was holding them back from doing so, something they feared more than her it looked like.

It was no skin off her back if they stood and fought.

* * *

Roran waited in the bushes, watching and observing the soldiers in the clearing, waiting for an opportunity to free the other villagers. It seemed hopeless, there were simply too many for him to overwhelm, he only had a bow and arrows, what could they do?

_BOOM!_

A massive explosion pierced the air, the ground shaking and many birds flying in fright. It came from the direction the other group had gone off to, including the Ra'zac, much to Roran's anger. It also attracted the attention of the soldiers, who congregated instantly, the sentries pulling back.

This was odd, and then Roran heard what sounded like combat coming from the direction of the explosion, and a roar he had never heard before.

After a tense few minutes, things became deathly quiet.

Suddenly, a soldier cried out, dropping to his knees and clutching at his stomach, Roran couldn't see what happened from his position, but it definitely caught the attention of the soldiers, who immediately scattered, looking in all directions related to the explosion.

Another soldier went flying, being shoved bodily by a mysterious figure that leapt with a roar similar to the one he heard earlier. The being he saw was huge, taller than Horst and his sons easily by more than a head, but they were moving so much the only thing Roran could tell was a long mane of hair.

This was his chance to free Katrina and the others, however. Roran rushed from his hiding place.

Coming to a quick stop, nearly sliding in the mud, Roran quickly reached Katrina.

"Roran, what are you doing here," she whispered, even as Roran dropped his bow and withdrew a knife he had taken with him and began sawing through the rope binding her and the others.

"Saving you," Roran whispered hurriedly in answer.

Katrina remained silent as Roran continued cutting, the sounds of the fight not able to disrupt his concentration. Roran even continued as the sounds suddenly stopped. A heavy thud to his right and a small scream from Katrina did make Roran stop and look.

It was one of the soldiers; he looked no older than Roran himself under his helmet. It was what was left of it that was intimidating. There was a nasty dent in the forehead of the helmet, blood leaking out from under it indicating that his skull had been crushed inward.

"R—Roran," Katrina whimpered, a look of fear plastered on her face as she looked at something behind him.

Turning slowly, knife raised, Roran looked to see a massively tall figure behind him, a head in its grasp.

Taking a closer look, he could see strange looking armor covering the figure from a mask on their face to shin guards on their legs. Judging by the figure's slim waist and physique, Roran guessed the being in front of him was female, except she was over seven feet tall, much taller than the tallest man Roran had ever seen. On her shoulder he could see a strange looking skull adorning it like a shoulder guard. Roran could also see that her hands and feet were uncovered, which revealed she wasn't human, her hands possessed black claw-like nails, and her feet had four toes that had sharp looking nails on them as well.

Considering that she had just taken on fifteen of Galbatorix's soldiers by herself and had won rather one-sidedly, Roran doubted that he could stand a chance, but if this warrior woman was going to hurt Katrina or any of the other villagers, then he had to try.

* * *

Szehra regarded the ooman before her, it was the same one she had observed watching the village earlier. Now he had been cutting the others free, apparently using her fight with the soldiers as a distraction, and now he had a knife raised against her. His determination was admirable, she guessed, but ultimately futile, if she had decided to kill him, he would already be dead.

_Clank_

The sound cut the tension like a knife. One of the soldiers Szehra had cut down and left to his wounds had stood and thrown a rock at her back. With a snap of movement, her plasma caster flipped up and fired in the soldier's direction. With a pained cry, the soldier's midsection was blasted away, leaving a gaping, slightly smoldering hole.

During this Szehra's eyes had not left the ooman, who looked even more unnerved at the display of power. Deciding to respect the honor the ooman had shown, Szehra turned and left, activating her cloak.

* * *

Roran only stared in awe, the knife in his grip forgotten. The woman had simply blasted a soldier with a strange contraption on her shoulder in a flash of light, and then left, turning invisible while doing so.

"Roran, who was that," Katrina asked, still whispering out of shock.

"I don't know, but I think she's a friend," he answered.

"You and the others better get back to Carvahall, I don't think the Ra'zac will bother you with her around," Roran continued, Katrina nodding in answer.

With that conversation done, Roran got back to work cutting the ropes, quickly finishing the task. Afterward, Katrina gathered together with the other villagers, the group filing out of the hills as Roran himself returned to his campsite, pondering the implications of this new warrior's arrival.

**A/N: Okay, so, if you read this, you would have noticed that a portion of this chapter was a direct section of the book, this was because I felt that the characters wouldn't seem in-character if I didn't.**

**Also, I'm also still trying to figure out when the Roran chapters are occurring in relation to the other parts of the book, so as to connect the parts involving the other two, so the next chapter may not be out for a while.**

**So, I'll see you all next chapter!**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again everyone, I am back with another chapter of Hunting a Rider. As was planned, I have moved on to Du Weldenvarden for this next chapter. This was a little tricky in figuring out where in the book I wanted this to take place in, but I found a place where I can feel comfortable in putting it. Eragon, Saphira, Oromis and Glaedr will appear in this chapter, and I sincerely hope I got their personalities right.**

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. And without further ado; please read, review, and enjoy.**

Ziirik woke from unconsciousness with a start. Looking around, he found himself intact in the pod. He remembered the pods being knocked off-course, then his pod crashed and he hit his head, then nothing.

Deciding that idle pondering would get him nowhere, Ziirik reached for and found the release. Pulling it, he looked out and found himself in a forest, the trees towered over the Yautja, covered in needles and leaves. The foliage was so dense that he couldn't see very far as he nearly leaped from the pod.

Ziirik looked around, this did not seem familiar to him in the least, the chosen landing site had been in a plain, and this was the exact opposite. The trees were so tightly packed even around the small clearing his pod had made, that Ziirik could not see any possible landmarks. He remembered an extremely large forest in the northern part of the chosen continent from the maps, but he hadn't paid attention as the landing site was so far away.

The Yautja Hunter decided to leap to one of the trees. Choosing the nearest one, Ziirik leapt into the lower branches, which were only twice his height from the ground. Quickly finding purchase for his hands among the branches, he leapt from layer to layer, ascending at a pace that oomans would find impossible.

Reaching the top of the tree, Ziirik could only look in astonishment at the sea of trees that greeted his eyes, even hills were not spared the tide of trees that he saw. Watching this view, he felt a wind blow through the treetops, it wasn't very strong, but it was enough to set the thin tops of the trees to swaying.

Leaping back down to the ground, Ziirik pondered on the direction he needed to go, there were no landmarks visible to his sight or any vision modes available to his mask. He needed to meet with his siblings, but he knew not where to look. Their masks had only so much range for communication between them, and Ziirik already knew that he was out of range of both. That was why the pods were supposed to land close to each other.

Ziirik pondered manually detonating the pod so that it would be a signal to his siblings if they were in aural or visual range. Then he remembered stories he had heard in his youth, which in his 107 years was far for an ooman, but not so much for the Yautja. The detonation of the pod would also alert the entities of this planet to his presence. Thinking back, with those warriors much lauded honor, surely they might help him, but then again it had been over 400 years since the previous clan had left.

During this debate, Ziirik paced back and forth, until finally deciding he was going to risk detonating the pod manually with a signal from his mask. Walking some distance away, Ziirik decided he was safe, and sent the signal with a mandible twitch, the pod disintegrating in fire with a blast wave that knocked over a couple nearby saplings while singeing some of the branches of the taller trees.

With this task done, Ziirik activated his cloak and leapt to the branch of a tree a few feet further away from the site, just in case some valuable prey wandered too close.

* * *

Eragon rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he flew with his dragon, Saphira, to meet with their teachers, the elf Oromis, and the gold dragon Glaedr. He had no idea why their teachers wanted them to come so quickly, only that the message from Glaedr to Saphira had said that they had to hurry.

It had been a few weeks of travel to reach the elven city if Ellesméra from Farthen Dûr after the battle there, and Murtagh's own capture. From there it was to the Crags of Tel'naeír where their teachers resided.

Upon landing, Eragon hopped off of Saphira, the sapphire colored dragon laying down to wait as he walked into Oromis' hut. The hut itself was simple, grown between the trunks of two trees, as it sat on the edge of the nearby cliff.

Entering the sparsely furnished abode, Eragon quickly bowed while twisting his hand over his sternum, the gesture of respect between the elves as he greeted his master, Oromis. Like all elves Oromis was lithe in physique, with a strength that belied his thin frame, while likely one of the oldest elves alive, the only sign of Oromis' great age was the expression of great compassion and wisdom in his eyes.

"I have come as quickly as I could ebrithil, is something wrong," Eragon asked in the language of the elves, also known as the ancient language and the language of magic.

"Indeed Eragon, something is the matter," Oromis began, his eyes betraying a small hint of worry, "Glaedr and I sensed something strange last night, at first we thought it was nothing, but then the Menoa Tree and the forest itself called out in alarm, something is not right in Du Weldenvarden."

"Do you have any clues as to what is wrong," Eragon asked.

At his teacher's silence, Eragon almost thought that the old elf had no idea, until Glaedr's voice rumbled in his mind.

'_While we had dismissed the strange object we sensed the night before as nothing_,' Glaedr explained, '_The forest did not_, _and when the object had crashed in the forest some miles from Ellesméra_, _there was one word that cried out the most, Yautja_.'

'_Yautja_,' Eragon repeated in his mind, relaying his conversation to Saphira as it took place.

"Master, what does that word mean," he asked.

"In this language, it means Star Hunter, and refers to a race that used to come here every two-hundred years to challenge the greatest warriors Alagaësia had to offer," Oromis explained.

'_However_,' interjected Glaedr, '_we and many others had thought they disappeared long before the Fall_.'

'_So if one is here now_,' Saphira piped up, '_What does that mean for us_, _and Alagaësia_?'

"It is possible that they do not know the situation here, as there was only one that we had sensed," Oromis stated, "And they might be seeking civilization to challenge what warriors they could find."

'_And with Galbatorix in power_,' Glaedr said, '_we cannot afford to be distracted with a challenge like this now_.'

'_Maybe we can convince them to help us_,' Saphira suggested.

Oromis nodded his head in thought, "It is possible, but not likely, they had never shown interest in the political dealings of Alagaësia before," he stated.

"But maybe we can convince the one you sensed master," Eragon said hopefully.

A small smile came to Oromis' lips for a moment, "We will not know until we try Eragon, come," he concluded with a motion of his hand as he left the hut. Eragon followed closely behind.

Eragon watched the forest below for any signs of what Oromis had told him about, with both his mind and his eyes, however the trees were not giving up any clues. All he could see was the tide of green trees rolling through as far as he could see.

'_This is boring_,' Saphira complained, '_I thought Oromis and Glaedr knew where the Yautja was_.'

'_Be patient_,' Eragon chided.

Turning to observe Oromis and Glaedr as they flew beside him and Saphira, Eragon saw the elf sitting calmly and watching the ground from Glaedr's back, not seeming to notice Eragon's and Saphira's impatience.

'_Saphira_, _below you_,' Glaedr suddenly called out. Eragon yelped as Saphira rolled to the side suddenly, barely missing a ball of energy the size of his head as it flew past him.

"Eragon, Saphira, land now," Oromis called out. At that, Eragon immediately urged Saphira to land, the blue dragon descending to the trees, Glaedr and Oromis not far behind.

Upon landing, the mysterious attacks stopped, although the two Riders had now lost the advantage of flight.

"Why didn't you tell us they can use magic," Eragon asked Oromis, rather annoyed his teacher had left out that detail.

"I never said they could," Oromis answered, "They are in possession of items that can project energy like a magic user, however they themselves cannot."

Partially mollified with this answer, Eragon asked, "So what now?"

'_That blast earlier indicates the Yautja is close_,' Glaedr said, the gold dragon's eyes scanning from side to side even as he conversed, '_Search with your minds_, _you will know the mind of a Yautja when you encounter it_.'

'_How so, master_,' Saphira questioned.

"You will not be able to penetrate the mind of a Yautja if they are focused on a hunt, which is likely what is going on here," Oromis answered, keeping vigilant himself.

Eragon cast his mind out, trying to sift out any possible leads from all of the wildlife around them. All of the minds of the different creatures, from the largest deer to the smallest ant, appeared in Eragon's mind as points of light, each differing in depending on the size of the creature themselves. It was also now that Eragon noticed that all the noises of the forest that should be echoing around them, was completely silent.

'_Strange_, _the forest is so quiet_, _it is unnatural_,' Eragon thought.

At this Saphira snorted in annoyance, '_It could just as easily be Glaedr and myself that has the forest so quiet_.'

With a small chuckle, Eragon conceded, '_Indeed_, _but dragons are usually hunting from the air are they not_,' at this Saphira gave another huff, which only increased Eragon's amusement, until she stiffened under him, drawing his attention immediately.

'_I sense something_,' Saphira thought, '_it is strange_, _alien even to me_, _and I am unable to get an impression from it_.'

After a quick motion to Oromis to listen, the older Rider and his dragon coming to a halt, Eragon asked Saphira, '_Where_?'

'_There_,' she answered, pointing with her snout towards a tree off to their right, just above her head and nearly even with Glaedr's.

Looking towards it, Eragon's eyes couldn't see anything, and at first he thought about questioning Saphira's judgment, but then he cast his own mind outward. To his surprise there was indeed a mind he could feel there, yet his eyes saw nothing. "Show yourself, we only want to talk," he called out in the ancient language. In the language of the elves, it was nearly impossible to lie, and even if something or someone didn't understand the language itself, the recipient would still be able to understand the intention behind it. He hoped it would work with a Yautja, even though they weren't of Alagaësia.

It was only for a few moments that Eragon hoped it had worked, but then two yellow glowing eyes appeared in the tree, staring balefully at the group. Then a strange object appeared into view, it appeared to have a handle, with a large cylinder attached.

Eragon didn't get a chance to make a full examination, as the object fired what looked like a net with a muffled _thoom_. The projectile wrapped itself around Saphira's muzzle in a blur, thoroughly entangling itself and startling her into rearing. As Saphira attempted to reach and free her mouth, mentally cursing all the while, the Yautja leapt with glowing eyes, colliding with Eragon and tearing him from the saddle.

As Eragon flew through the air, he couldn't help but be slightly amazed at the strength of the Yautja, until his skull was jarred as the two of them landed and rolled in the grass of the forest floor.

Rolling to his feet, Eragon drew Zar'roc, the red sword he had been given by Brom. As he watched, the Yautja stood and seemed to appear out of thin air, small arcs of energy traveling and revealing the warrior to his sight. The figure was seven feet tall, even, and was wearing a suit that covered his entire body, with metal gauntlets and shin guards, with elbow guards, knee guards, and a mask that covered their face. The entire armor seemed to have a swept look to it, reminiscent of feathers or spikes.

The Yautja had landed some distance away, out of reach of Zar'roc, but that didn't seem to perturb the strange being as far as Eragon could tell. With a swift motion, the Yautja retrieved another strange object from his hip, which looked like a slice from a circle with a handle. In a few seconds, the object expanded into a full circle covered with small tooth-like blades.

With a whip-like motion, the Yautja drew the disc back, and then threw it towards Eragon. Initially Eragon waited for it to bounce off of his wards, but when it didn't he ducked as fast as he could, the disc flew over his head with a rush of air. A sudden muffled yowl behind him made Eragon turn around. It appeared that the disc, while it had missed Eragon, Saphira had been turning around and it cut straight through the membrane of her right wing, a bloody hole marking its passage.

'_Eragon, behind you_,' Saphira warned him, Eragon quickly turned back around to find the Yautja charging him with twin blades extended from his gauntlets.

* * *

Ziirik was utterly focused on the fight this young warrior was giving him. How an ooman had gotten here, Ziir was unsure, but that was irrelevant, the group had wandered too close to the landing site, and the young Yautja couldn't afford them possibly finding a trace of Yautja technology.

It was rather disappointing that he couldn't take the big golden reptile as prey, due to its missing limb and the handicap that came with it. During the fight the beast and its rider had taken to trying to help the blue one. The ooman he was fighting now had tried speaking to him in a strange language, but Ziirik didn't let that distract him from the Hunt.

The ooman's own beast had been distracted easily enough with his net, and the disc had allowed Ziir to close with his wrist blades. Bringing his left blades down, Ziirik was met with the ooman's blade; the red sword glinted in the chips of light cast from the forest canopy. Swinging with his other blades, the ooman dodged backward, disengaging from Ziirik.

The Yautja didn't allow this to pass for long, rushing forward and slashing downward again with his right blades. As he heard the whir of his disc returning, Ziir reached out with his left hand, catching the deadly projectile with ease. Using the momentum, Ziir brought the disc to bear against the ooman, slashing diagonally downward. Again the ooman dodged, but it left him open to Ziirik's wrist blades.

Bringing his arm down, Ziirik slashed at the ooman's leg, the hooked shape of the blades allowing them to grab the ooman and drag him off of his feet. With the lack of armor on the ooman, the Hunter's blades cut into the clothing and flesh, leaving bloody marks.

Even on his back, the ooman continued to fight, not losing his sword in his fall. As Ziirik slashed downwards with both sets of wrist blades, the ooman blocked desperately, even as the Hunter could tell he was tiring.

With an almost contemptuous flick of his wrist, Ziirik hooked the red blade and twisted it from its wielder's grip. Drawing his blades back, Ziirik was ready to end the fight before the ooman cried out in the strange language again and the Yautja was suddenly thrown backward, flying several feet, bouncing off of a tree before landing.

Shaken slightly, Ziirik growled before shaking his head to clear the slight fuzziness, and then withdrew his twin combi-sticks from his back. The two weapons telescoped to their full length in his grasp. As he waited, the ooman regained his feet and retrieved his blade, before turning to face Ziirik again.

With a short roar, Ziirik leapt forward. Swinging the combi-stick in his right hand, the weapon collided with the ooman's with a loud _clang_. Stabbing forward with the one in his left hand, the ooman sidestepped the weapon only barely.

A loud roar behind him alerted Ziirik to the fact that the ooman's reptile had been freed, the sapphire scaled beast charging forward.

With a short spin, Ziirik stabbed at the reptile with his right combi-stick, while striking at the ooman with the other.

The fight quickly became a whirlwind for the Hunter, continuously spinning, batting the ooman's blade away from him one instant, stabbing at the paws of the reptile the next. Ziirik's combi-sticks became singular metallic cyclones, inflicting small scratches on the paws and sometimes the muzzle of the reptile, while inflicting slightly worse wounds on the arms and legs of the ooman.

After nearly two minutes of this continuous cycle, Ziirik decided to end one of these opponents before he tired himself out. With a nearly blurred motion, Ziirik buried the first two feet of one of his combi-sticks in the right paw of the reptile, earning a pained cry from the creature, then brought his other combi-stick down on the blade of the ooman.

* * *

Eragon couldn't believe it, the Yautja had been fighting himself and Saphira from two sides one instant, the next he had stabbed her and brought his strange spear down on Zar'roc, Eragon having to take a two-handed grip on the weapon to avoid getting clouted on the skull.

The sheer strength of the blow had also driven Eragon to one knee, thankfully Zar'roc had withstood the blow. Suddenly pain bloomed in his back, emanating from his scar, '_Oh no_,_ not now_,' was all he was able to think before descending into another pain attack.

* * *

Ziirik was supremely confused as the ooman suddenly cried out and started writhing on the ground in what was supposedly pain. As far as the Hunter knew, he had not inflicted wounds that brought on this kind of suffering. Retracting his combi-stick, Ziirik cocked his head to the side, then crouched down, taking hold of the ooman and attempting to turn him over, as the ooman seemed to be trying to claw at his own back.

As he did so, Ziirik heard another growl behind him, then what was presumably the other being riding the gold reptile speaking as if chastising. Finally managing to roll the ooman over¸ Ziirik switched the vision modes on his mask, until finally finding a diagnostic mode, usually used to find possible abnormalities of prey. What he found was strange; it seemed that an old piece of scar tissue was causing the entire nervous system to spasm with pain signals, causing the seizure he was witnessing.

It was then Ziirik heard someone clear their throat, then speak, "Greetings Hunter, it has been a long time since your kind has been here," whoever the speaker was, their Yautja was heavily accented, almost like they were trying to make their words flow to a rhythm it was not designed to follow.

Turning around, Ziirik addressed the speaker, "Where are you."

"It is I," the speaker was the rider of the golden reptile, who had dismounted and seemed to have pulled his combi-stick from the blue. They were lithe in build, taller than the ooman but not by much, with ears that tapered to a point that Ziirik could see, and a fair complexion.

Ziirik was slightly taken aback that one of the natives of this planet knew the Yautja tongue, if rather accented. "What is wrong with the ooman," he asked.

"It is an affliction caused by another, right now I would prefer to converse with you before this gets further out of hand," the strange being asked.

"Return my weapon to me, then we will talk," Ziirik demanded.

With a small nod from the stranger, the two walked forward, meeting between the two reptiles and the ooman still writhing on the ground. Without a word, the stranger handed Ziirik his combi-stick, which telescoped back into place before being put into place on the Yautja's back.

Ziirik would admit that his curiosity was raised at this development, while he had heard the stories just like his siblings of the honor of the warriors that rode these beasts; he had never known some of them knew the Yautja language. In addition, he had been told there were more of them, yet all he had seen this day was two.

"So, young one," began the stranger with a small bow of his head, "Why is it you and your fellows come back to our home now, when we have been afflicted with betrayal by our own and now war looms on the horizon?"

"I know not of what you speak, stranger," Ziirik answered, "I have come to determine this place's worthiness as a hunting ground for my clan with my siblings."

This seemed to surprise the stranger, "You mean to say the Yautja we have had contact with in the past is from another clan," he said. Ziirik nodded his head in answer.

Taking a closer look at the stranger, Ziirik noticed that unlike the ooman, the other had brought no weapons in addition to not bringing armor of any discernable kind. It was then he took a look at the stranger's mount, and saw a sword hanging from what seemed to be a strange looking saddle. They had indeed come prepared, but instead chose to confront him without a weapon, Ziirik was slightly amazed at this leap of faith, if he had been a dishonorable Ic'jit, Bad Blood, he would have likely killed the being before him without so much as a twitch of his mandible.

It was then Ziirik noticed the stranger trying to get his attention, "Perhaps we can help you, come back with us and we can help you find your siblings," the strange warrior suggested.

While Ziirik initially doubted this claim, he remembered the warrior before him had chosen to take a leap of faith in not bringing a weapon or armor to confront him, and the stories of these warriors having great honor. He decided to make a similar gesture of faith.

"I accept," he replied simply.

"Excellent," the warrior replied, moving to recover his companion, the ooman having passed out from the pain it seemed. Ziirik moved to the side so as to not hinder this possible ally.

Once he had gained and placed the ooman on the back of the blue reptile, strapping the young man into whatever straps had not been torn in Ziirik's attack, the stranger leapt onto his own mount, using the beast's remaining foreleg as means to do so.

"If you wish, Glaedr will allow you to ride him back to our home," the warrior asked Ziirik. Debating this for a moment, Ziirik decided this was his own leap of faith in a way, he accepted with a nod.

He hoped that this wasn't going to be a mistake.

**A/N: Alright, if you have read this far, I hope you enjoyed this particular installment! Also, if you have been keeping track of which Yautja the story is following, then you will know that the eldest, Akkarn, is next in line. And on that note, see you all next time!**

**And also, a late Happy Thanksgiving to all of my readers, and Happy Black Friday if you like!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello everyone, I'm Immortal Drake and I am back with the next chapter of Hunting a Rider. Internet's been out for a week at least, so using the opportunity I have now to upload. Last chapter we had Ziirik taking on Eragon (show of hands if you were hoping Ziirik would actually clout Eragon on the head). Now we have the eldest sibling, Akkarn. **

**I also have come across another crossover (although it isn't in the crossover category), called AVP III: Brisingr. It is not as detailed as some fics on the site, but it is enjoyable in my opinion. Also, if you are looking for a site that criticizes the Inheritance Cycle, Eragon-Sporkings from Kippur I have found to be entertaining as well.**

**Disclaimer: See Prologue. Without further ado; please read, review, and enjoy.**

Akkarn looked around the pod, assessing his situation. He had been trying to contact his siblings for about a half-hour, but they must have been out of range. He had been conscious throughout his descent, feeling the rumbling of the impact of the pod. It was finally now that his mask registered their signals were out of range.

Analyzing the situation, Akkarn figured that their lack of initial contact when the pods got separated, they must have hit their heads or something to knock out their signals.

Deciding to take a look around, Akkarn pulled the release and pulled himself from the pod.

He found himself looking around at a desert. Remembering from the maps he had viewed, there was a large desert in the middle of the continent they were landing on. The night sky above twinkled with stars, the moon providing clear if slightly dim light, much clearer than most skies Akkarn himself had Hunted under in his 136 years.

Looking around, Akkarn oriented his mask's compass with the magnetic poles, determining that his pod had crashed facing a southeastern direction. Zooming in that direction, Akkarn could see the peaks of mountains, and if their peaks could be seen from there, they must be truly massive.

Panning back around, Akkarn scanned his surroundings, first with heat vision, and then in the spectrums favored by other species, including oomans. When nothing stood out to him, he decided that he needed to find civilization. From the map, he remembered that there were more temperate areas to the east, but he didn't know how far he was from the edge of the desert.

Deciding that a course directly east would benefit him more, Akkarn turned to the east and started walking.

After half an hour, Akkarn made a discovery, there seemed to be a large disturbance in the sand. He immediately set his mask to analyze what it could. Upon closer inspection the Hunter found they were a multitude of tracks. Some indicated animals of some kind, likely hooved with the rounded shape of the tracks themselves. What was most surprising was the fact that there appeared to be tracks consistent with humans, or at least a humanoids, scattered among the group.

By Akkarn's estimates, the group that had traveled through was very large, in the hundreds if not the low thousands. If his hunch was correct, this group was likely heading towards the temperate climate, or would be near enough he could find his way there. Judging by the deterioration of the tracks themselves, the group was an hour ahead of him at least, considering the calm winds around him now. The Hunter immediately started leaping over the sand, trying to catch up.

After traveling a mile and a half, Akkarn's mask picked up faint heat signatures in front of him. He immediately activated his cloak and slowed his pace, it would not do to get overly excited now and blow his cover.

Coming closer, Akkarn was able to make out the small moving lights of sentries if he zoomed in with his mask. In fact, they were oomans that led the group he had been following, armored in leather and chainmail. '_Foolish_, _their lights will ruin their night vision_,' Akkarn thought as he observed the sentries.

The majority of the lookouts he could see wielded swords, although he could see wear and tear on the scabbards, and some had bows on their backs, marking them as archers of a sort. The patrols as he watched always walked in pairs and one patrol's path always intersected with another's at one or more points. Whoever was running the group knew what they were doing, was Akkarn's impression. Except for the possibility they were resting at night rather than day, which was the only thing Akkarn would change.

The Hunter knew that any investigation at this point would lead to footprints that could reveal his presence, so he decided some reconnaissance with his mask was the best path.

Approaching closer while cloaked, the Yautja crouched behind a low dune and zoomed in with his mask at the camp.

Deciding to zoom in on a pair of sentries that were conversing as they walked, Akkarn recorded the language they spoke. Other oomans he had Hunted before spoke a language they called "English," but it did not seem to be the case for these particular oomans, as Akkarn was unable to recognize any words from that language.

While the large camp had sentries patrolling the perimeter, the interior was much less secure in that regard. A sprawl of tents dominated the encampment, many very close to each other and almost touching. From his position, Akkarn could just make out a larger pavilion, most likely for the leader of this particular band.

Akkarn also noticed a tent that was farther away from the others, but he could not figure out its purpose as it was facing away from him. Another, smaller tent with what looked like various herbs hanging dried from lines was by itself away from the camp for all practical purposes to the Yautja, yet the guards patrolled around it, if giving it a wider berth than the other tents.

'_Must be a local healer or apothecary_,' Akkarn thought.

Since it seemed that the group was not going anywhere for now, Akkarn decided to rest himself. Walking to a distance where he could still see the camp and hopefully not lose them, Akkarn folded his half-cape so it would not get sand in it, dug a small depression into the sand and laid down, deciding to get whatever rest he could before following the group rather than wasting energy.

* * *

The sounds of life waking up in the Varden camp woke Nasuada from her sleep. With a small yawn she rose from her bedroll as she picked out a simple linen garment for the day ahead. The Varden had been traveling to Surda, led by King Orrin who was allowing the Varden to travel into his country's borders and then assist them in their invasion of the Empire.

She thought back to the night before, and the whispers it no doubt had generated among the Varden's ranks. The strange object that had fallen nearly directly over their heads, trailing a tail of fire as it went. She could imagine them now; the King was sending them a warning, trying to attack them all with magic. It was rumors like this she could disprove off-handedly, as the object missed and landed over a mile away from the camp. What Nasuada was concerned about, however, was the sorceress Trianna and Du Vrangr Gata, the Varden's magic users, who wanted permission to go and study the object for potential magical value. She had told them to wait until morning, and they would only have an hour or two until the Varden continued their journey.

The entire business of the object made Nasuada uneasy, its mysterious appearance over their camp, and the fact it was possibly connected with magic which she couldn't control. This was compounded when there was a mysterious sound like an explosion that had rattled some of the outlying tents and sent many of the Varden's animals into disarray while she had been discussing with Trianna about it.

Finally finishing preparing for her audiences for the day, Nasuada called to the guards stationed outside the tent entrance. Unsurprisingly, Trianna was the first to enter, the sorceress' blue eyes hard and determined. After her came Jörmundur, formerly her father's second-in-command and now her advisor. After him the herbalist Angela practically skipped into the tent, her brown curls bouncing around her head. Strangely the small woman was carrying a large water skin with her.

"Nasuada, I've come to discuss arrangements for an investigation into that strange object that fell from the sky last night," Trianna stated.

Nasuada nodded to the sorceress and then looked to Jormundur, who had no doubt drawn up the arrangements already.

"You will only have an hour once you reach the object and no more, you will also have to listen to any orders your escorts give you," Jörmundur stated. Trianna nodded in agreement.

"Angela, why are you here," Nasuada asked after the exchange.

"Why, something interesting is happening of course, and I want to be there," the small herbalist chattered like she was commenting about the weather.

"But," Angela began, her face becoming more serious than Nasuada had ever seen it, "I also have a hunch that we are dealing with something Alagaësia has not seen in a long time, and I hope it is wrong."

"What could that possibly be," Jörmundur asked incredulously.

Angela turned to the tall man, regarding him before stating with almost no emotion, "Yautja."

* * *

Akkarn woke to find a small covering of sand on his limbs as the dune he had laid behind cast a shadow over him. Quickly shaking off the small grains and unfolding his half-cape to place it on his back, Akkarn got up into a crouch, slowly raising his head to observe the camp.

At first there seemed to be no sign of any change, then the Hunter noticed a gathering at one edge of the camp.

The entire group was mounted on what appeared to be horses to Akkarn, with a dozen wearing armor like the sentries from the night before, while half that number wore what appeared to be purple robes. There was one that was dressed entirely differently with a modest garment in earth tones with a multitude of small bags made of presumably cloth, while a bigger one that rested on the ooman's hip appeared to be for carrying water. The ooman woman was also small for an ooman, tiny by Yautja standards, it surprised Akkarn that she was able to carry so many things and not fall over.

It was not long once the group moved out from the main camp. Plotting the group's course and taking the angle of his view into account, the Hunter was able to determine that they were heading in the direction he had come from, towards his pod that had already self-destructed during the night. There was no logical reason for Akkarn to follow them, but he would admit he was curious as to how these oomans conducted a search. Activating his cloak, the Yautja followed as close as he dared.

Being on horseback allowed the oomans to make good time to the landing site, despite not going faster than a walk, which allowed the Hunter to follow more closely. During the trip, Akkarn had come closer, trying to find out if the oomans spoke the same language as others of their kind he had Hunted before. He had no such luck, as the oomans spoke a language of complete gibberish when compared to his admittedly limited understanding of ooman tongues he had heard.

What was troubling was that the tiny ooman woman had taken to randomly sloshing water in a random direction to the outside of the group's perimeter, and then retreating to the inside. He wouldn't dare get too close and risk his cloak being short-circuited, the ooman would guess right eventually.

As the group reached the site of his landing, the robed ones dismounted from their horses while the armored ones remained mounted. The small woman also dismounted, although she seemed to be randomly inspecting handfuls of sand, the Hunter's tracks having been eliminated by the desert winds hours before.

A noise at the edge of his hearing attracted the Yautja's attention, it sounded like a group of horses were approaching.

* * *

Trianna was becoming anxious as well as annoyed. She had led her chosen spellcasters from Du Vrangr Gata to the site of the object's landing, yet there was nothing for them to find. Only a blackened patch of sand that had a small rough circle of glass in the center was there. It was as if the object had erased itself from existence.

When the sorceress had asked the herbalist Angela about what she had said about the "Yautja," the small woman had become more silent than a stone. No matter what Trianna had tried, switching subjects to try to trick the other woman into letting something slip, or trying to interrogate her outright. Nothing worked, especially since Angela seemed intent on splashing the water she brought with her everywhere. Again the word "Yautja" had been used as explanation.

Almost as soon as they had arrived Trianna and the others had searched for evidence of magic being used, and to their surprise they found no sign of it whatsoever. Not even the slightest trace of energy could be found.

They had only been there for half an hour when one of their guards called out, saying he spotted something moving out in the dunes.

Looking in the direction of the call, Trianna saw a small cloud of dust moving towards them. The cloud resolved itself into over a dozen mounted men armed with various weapons in various conditions. A more specific estimate was impossible to guess as the sergeant of the guards protecting them brought his men around to face the approaching warriors.

* * *

Akkarn watched as the two groups of oomans conversed; it seemed that the warriors of the group he was following were guards of some sort for the robed ones. The other group was much grittier than the first, with armor that was run-down with wear and tear, often visibly so. The second group's weapons also very much matched their armor in condition; to the Hunter it was disgraceful that they allowed their tools to fall into such disrepair.

The second group also outnumbered the warriors of the first group nearly two to one, with about twenty-one total in their group by the seasoned Hunter's estimates.

What intrigued Akkarn was the fact that the robed oomans had congregated around each other, and seemed to be muttering among themselves, although he couldn't pick up what they were saying or understand it even if he could.

The small ooman woman didn't seem concerned at all, putting her at odds with the rest of her companions, as the warriors were visibly tense as the conversation went on, and the robed oomans' body language described similar unease. Akkarn's guess was that the second group was raiders of a sort, and the first group was made up of less direct fighters than the second.

It was then there was a loud shout and the two sides rushed at each other, the horsemen drawing swords in the first group while implements ranging from curved blades to crude clubs were drawn in the second.

Four members of the second group were cut down in the first few seconds of the skirmish; '_The warriors of the first group must have better training_,' Akkarn reasoned. It was not long before the second group's numerical superiority made itself known, three of the raiders ganging up and cutting and bludgeoning one warrior to death on his mount. Other dishonorable tactics were quickly put into use as the first group's warriors started dying one after another.

Two of the raiders immediately broke off, riding for the robed oomans, before turning towards the lone woman, who had not moved from her place. '_Why won't she get out of the way_,' Akkarn thought to himself, already agitated from witnessing the raiders' lack of honor.

As the raiders closed in, the woman still didn't move, and the warriors of the first group were losing as the robed oomans still seemed to mutter among themselves. Akkarn decided to act. His cloak shimmered as his plasma caster activated, flipping up from his shoulder, and a blue ball of plasma flew from the weapon, striking the sand between the riders, the explosion knocking them and their mounts tumbling.

Drawing one of his swords, Akkarn leaped at the now rising raiders with a roar.

Both of the oomans had retained their weapons in their fall, the one Akkarn reached first brandished a club dazedly at the charging Yautja before having the hand holding the weapon severed. As the man screamed he was run through with the blade.

The second swung a rusted, notched sword, as Akkarn blocked with ease, the impact making another notch in the ooman's weapon. The second blow was blocked, but was too much for the already worn sword, the blade snapping in two at a notch, leaving the raider open as he looked at it in surprise. Akkarn swiftly slashed him across his midsection, and then took hold of the ooman by his matted hair and beheaded him.

Tossing the head aside, Akkarn looked across the battlefield, the Yautja noticed that only the robed oomans had paused to look at him, awe and fear on their faces. The raiders, however, seemed close to killing or incapacitating the last of the warriors. Drawing his second blade, Akkarn charged.

Akkarn first knocked a raider from his mount, the horse rearing and bolting at the Yautja's sudden appearance. With a single slash the ooman was dead. A raider wielding a spear tried to run him down, Akkarn sidestepped the charge, and swept both blades across rider and mount. Both fell dead, the rider nearly split in half, the horse's jugular cut.

Akkarn wasted no time; the raiders had seemed to notice his appearance and milled about in confusion. With another roar, Akkarn leaped into the air, swiping with both blades in a scissor-like motion, decapitating another raider. A raider found himself falling to the sand as his horse's legs were swatted out from under it. The man was quickly run through, staining the sand red with his life's blood.

Taking a moment to estimate the numbers of his enemies, Akkarn counted around ten, the warriors must have killed a few while he was engaged with the other two. The other warriors had around the same number, ten, one of which was nursing a wounded arm.

The Hunter quickly looked for the leader of the raiders, and the one he guessed was a raider that had an old-looking flail, engaged in battle with what was likely the leader of the warriors. The other ooman had a sword and shield and was blocking the swinging spiked balls of the flail with increasing slowness, if the pattern kept up the flail would break through his defense soon.

Akkarn quickly sheathed his swords and retrieved his combi-stick, the weapon telescoping to full length as the Hunter started to run. Taking a few steps, Akkarn drew his arm back and then threw the weapon with all his might. The projectile flew straight and true, catching the ooman through his midsection, going straight through his armpit, impaling his heart and likely exiting out the other side. The momentum of the weapon carried the raider from his horse, the man falling sideways and into the sand.

Akkarn walked over to his weapon, retrieving the spear in complete silence. Turning, Akkarn saw that the raiders had started to flee at the death of their leader, '_Pathetic cowards_,' he thought.

The expressions of the warriors of the first group seemed to match the robed oomans' expressions; they were awed and slightly fearful. It was then they started to raise their own weapons at him.

An exclamation from the short ooman woman stopped the warriors and the Hunter before they started attacking each other. The warriors likely out of respect, and Akkarn out of curiosity.

There was a short, loud exchange between the leader of the warriors and the short woman, another ooman woman with dark hair and blue eyes wearing purple robes joining in. It seemed that they were all in disagreement about him.

"Welcome to our world Hunter," a voice speaking in Yautja startled Akkarn out of his musings.

Looking around at the assembled oomans, Akkarn replied, "Who is there?"

"Only me," was an optimistic reply, and Akkarn found it was the small ooman woman that had spoken.

"How do you know this language ooman," Akkarn answered angrily, his hands starting to clench his combi-stick.

"I earned the right to learn it from one of your own," she answered, not shirking in the slightest from the Yautja's agitation.

Akkarn took a moment to think it over; oomans didn't have nearly the lifespan for the woman before him to have been alive when the previous clan visited this world. Yet she had said it without any stutter or faltering, telltale signs of deceit. She also had little to no accent when she spoke, adding to his confusion.

He immediately switched to the diagnostic mode all masks possessed to find possible problems with potential prey. It flabbergasted the Yautja when he found the woman was giving off a kind of interference that scrambled her image in his mask's vision. Unable to make it out, Akkarn switched to thermal vision, the woman's signature didn't seem out of place for her species.

Switching back to the ooman spectrum, Akkarn's mind still puzzled over what exactly he was looking at, the Hunter was convinced this woman was not an ooman in the least. The woman didn't seem perturbed in the least, even flashing her teeth at him in a smile while waiting.

"Impossible," he replied flatly in the Yautja tongue.

"Oh, I assure you, it is very much possible and true," she replied almost instantly.

Sheathing his weapon, Akkarn crossed his arms, "Prove this to me," he said.

Instead of answering, the woman began digging around in her bags. Eventually she apparently found what she was looking for, and pulled out something Akkarn did not think he would see.

The object was shaped like a small elongated pyramid, covered in the angular designs of the Yautja, symbols of learning and knowledge. Akkarn recognized it as a data spike, it would hold information on a subject if prey defeated a Hunter honorably, and the winner requested non-sensitive information from the Yautja. Subjects such as technology were off-limits, but things such as culture and language were not if it was shared with honorable opponents.

With a short command, the data spike opened, a red projection of various words of the Yautja language appearing before the Hunter's eyes. Akkarn was skeptical, but he couldn't deny the evidence before him.

"That is all the evidence I need, what do you want," he said.

"Come with us, I have a feeling there is something we can help you with," the woman said.

Cocking his head to the side, Akkarn answered, "And what would that be?"

"I think we can help you find your companions," the ooman answered, an element of cheeriness infecting her voice.

How the woman knew that he had not arrived alone surprised Akkarn, but if he had any chance of finding his siblings, an armed camp was not hard to miss for a Yautja and the presence of one on a world such as this likely meant a conflict was on the horizon.

* * *

Nasuada waited impatiently at the edge of the Varden camp for Trianna's expedition to return, they had less than half an hour remaining at the site. A sentry called out that he had seen them, and a small gathering of dust marked the group's approach.

As they rode up, the Varden leader noted that there were significantly fewer guards than there was when the group had set out earlier. As the group arrived, Nasuada approached Trianna and Angela. "What happened out there," she demanded.

The sorceress looked at the small herbalist and the two then turned to her, "That can wait until we are in your tent Nasuada, away from prying eyes and ears," Angela said.

Momentarily confused, Nasuada then thought it must have to do with the object they went after, and motioned for the other two women to follow her.

Once the trio reached Nasuada's tent, the guards outside lifted the flap for them to enter. Out of the corner of her eye the dark-skinned woman thought she saw a shimmer of air around the entrance, but she disregarded it to focus on the report.

Turning to face the other women, Nasuada addressed them, "So, are you two going to tell me what went on out there?"

"Better, we can show you," Angela said before speaking in a language that sounded like she was growling and clicking with her throat to the empty air.

To Nasuada's surprise, she saw the air next to the herbalist shimmer and then arcs of what looked like lightning revealed a figure that towered over all in the room. He had a broad chest and shoulders, a garment covered his entire body with a pattern similar to netting. He seemed to be wearing plates on his shins wrapped in a strange fur, pauldrons adorned his shoulders, and gauntlets protected his forearms. A mask also covered his face from view.

On each hip were twin swords hanging sheathed from a belt on his waist, and dangling from his back was a half-cape of a fur similar to that on his shin guards. A strange device she didn't recognize was on his left shoulder. The only thing that revealed he wasn't human were his scaly hands possessing black claw-like nails and his feet with four clawed toes. Braids sprouted from his skull and she could see them hang behind his head.

Just as Nasuada was about to call for her guards, Trianna interjected, "Wait, he's here to speak with you."

"He is," she said incredulously, the strange warrior had not moved an inch from where he stood.

"Yes, there is something we can help him with, and he might be willing to help us in return," Angela answered, the small woman seeming excited despite the tense atmosphere in the tent.

"And what exactly would that be," Nasuada replied cautiously, she didn't want the Varden to become tied with something that could be worse than Galbatorix.

Angela conversed with the warrior in the same strange language she had used to summon him, and he replied in the same language. Turning back to Nasuada, Angela explained, "He has become separated from his younger brother and sister, and with the Varden's information network in the Empire, we could find them easily if they are there."

Nasuada thought that if they looked anything like the one before her, they wouldn't be hard to miss if they weren't invisible.

A short statement from the warrior drew Angela's attention, the small woman chattering back, the exchange went back and forth a few times and Nasuada got the impression it was slightly heated.

When the exchange ended with a huff from Angela, Nasuada ventured speaking, "What did he say," she asked.

"While our friend would be honored if we helped him find his siblings," the herbalist began, "he won't help in fighting Galbatorix," she concluded.

"What, why not," Nasuada asked exasperatedly.

"While he would be grateful for our assistance," Angela began, "it is likely he could find them on his own without our help, and there is no reason for him to help rebels such as the Varden."

Taken aback, Nasuada looked directly at the warrior before her, "Warrior," she addressed him, "We are not simply rebels, we are fighting to liberate our homeland from an evil tyrant who oppresses our people," she said.

Angela quickly gave the warrior the translation, and his reply came quickly. "What did he say," Nasuada asked.

"He asks for proof," the herbalist replied.

The leader of the Varden opened her mouth to answer, but found herself unable to speak; none of the Varden had ever told stories of Galbatorix's oppression.

She then thought back to the stories of the Riders she had heard when she was young, "The king, Galbatorix, has gained his power by eliminating an order of powerful fighters, that he was once part of himself, and you can help us defeat him," she explained.

The warrior again replied after Angela's translation.

"He says that is not enough, he and his siblings can simply go after him on their own, and they have heard stories of the Riders in their youth so they know the risks," Angela translated.

Nasuada knew she was running out of options fast, what could she possibly offer these beings when they could take it for themselves without assisting the Varden. "Could we offer them payment," she asked Angela.

The small woman glowered at her, "That would just be insulting to them Nasuada, surely you can see the only option if you want them as allies," she said.

Immediately Nasuada thought of Eragon, "No, you can't possibly think of endangering Eragon like that," she said.

"No, not Eragon necessarily," Angela answered.

Nasuada thought harder, "You can't possibly," she started, Angela nodded, with a sigh, Nasuada addressed the warrior, "If you and your siblings help us against Galbatorix, the Riders will be able to rise again, and you will have more powerful opponents in the future to fight."

As Angela translated for her, Nasuada felt her stomach twist in knots, Trianna was looking at her gravely as well, for Nasuada had no doubt made a devil's deal with this warrior and his siblings. She wondered just how many future Riders would meet their possible end at the hands of this warrior or others like him.

After the warrior gave his answer, Nasuada listened for Angela's translation with nervousness, "He accepts," Angela said.

**A/N: Wow, Nasuada making a deal with the devil or what? Also, this was where I ran into a problem, there was really no logical reason for the Yautja to help the Varden, not kill them and respect them maybe, but not help. Future prey was the only possible deal I saw as being plausible. Also, have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone, see you next time!**


End file.
